


The Opposite of Love

by nightshiftblues



Series: the bruises don't lie, the bruises don't lie [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Enemies With Benefits, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, No Aftercare, One sided everything, Overstimulation, Porn with minimal Plot, Power Play, Spanking, hatefucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshiftblues/pseuds/nightshiftblues
Summary: “The opposite of love ain’t hate, though,” Alexander pressed and barely caught the beer John tossed his way. “There’s a certain… there’s a degree of intimacy, to hating someone.”





	The Opposite of Love

_Alexander didn’t realize how drunk he was until he stood up to follow John on their beer-searching quest and nearly lost his balance. He wobbled after his friend past the crowds of equally inebriated students and tried not to think about how many times the warm, weed-smelling air hanging heavy in the living room had visited other’s people’s lungs._

_“I’m just saying,” he had to raise his voice to carry over the chatter and the Kendrick Lamar blasting over the speakers, “if you wanna get full marks you’ve gotta have the full perspective; talk about the love between Phoebus, Esmeralda, Frollo, Quasimodo and, if you really wanna make professor Lee come into his pants, the relationship between the city of Paris and the reader that Hugo fleshes out thorough the book.”_

_It was a lot quieter in the kitchen and he could stop yelling midsentence. Coming in he almost tripped over some guy’s ridiculously long legs; the jerk had decided to sit on the floor by the doorframe. His dirty look was met with a lopsided grin._

_“Frollo doesn’t love her though,” John said and Alexander turned to watch his friend rummage through the fridge. “He hates the chick, just because he wants to bang her doesn’t mean that what he’s feeling for her isn’t as far from love as it gets.”_

_“You nerds are actually talking about assignments at a party?” Hercules hollered, leaning on the kitchen counter. Alex and John both ignored him._

_“The opposite of love ain’t hate, though,” Alexander pressed and barely caught the beer John tossed his way. Based on the lack of co-ordination he should probably take it slow with this one. “There’s a certain… there’s a degree of intimacy, to hating someone.”_

_“A degree of intimacy, gotcha,” John sneered and walked past Alex towards the living room again. “I’m gonna nail this essay, all thanks to your genius insight.”_

_Alex snorted. “Hey, I’m not here to write your shit for you.”_

 ~

On days like this Alex has to remind himself why exactly he changed majors from English lit to Law. Or rather, nights like this. _The law challenges me, I’m gonna have a sick job once I graduate, Washington says I’m meant to do great things_ , he repeats to himself again and again like a mantra as he walks back to his apartment in a light drizzle of rain that wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t for the wind. His laptop is busted (again) so he was forced to finish his presentation in the library. It must be 3 am by now. The water is already starting to seep through his $10 sneakers.

A car slows down next to him and Alexander grips the bundle of keys in his hoodie pocket. Great, he's gonna get kidnapped and trapped into someone’s basement because he wanted to make 150K a year. The car slows to a stop and the passenger side door clicks open.

“Get in, Hamilton,” comes out an unmistakable Southern drawl. At a longer side glance Alex recognizes the red Mercedes as well. He stops on his tracks and stares suspiciously.

“I won’t ask twice,” Jefferson calls and revs the engine.

For once common sense wins over Alexander Hamilton’s pride. He climbs in and yanks the door shut before Jefferson can estimate how wet his pristine car seats will get and change his mind.

“Atta boy,” Jefferson mutters and pulls back onto the road. “Thought you’d stand there like an idiot until dawn.”

“Thought you were someone who wanted to wear my skin as a dress.”

“I have better taste than that.”

“How dare you attack me with your reverse racism like this?” Alex says with mock outrage. That almost gets a snort out of Thomas and Alex tries not to feel too proud. Sure, Jefferson is always laughing _at_ him but laughing _with_ him is a rare occurrence. “Why are you driving around at night like a creep anyways?”

Jefferson tilts his head towards the backseat. “A grocery run.” Indeed there is a jug of soy milk and a few boxes of microwaveable mac n’ cheese sprawled on the backseat.

“Classy,” Alex comments. “Doesn’t explain why you were up though.” As if a college student needs some special reason for being up in the small hours.

Jefferson shrugs and keeps his eyes on the road, clearly thinking the same. But Alexander has never gotten too good at being comfortable with silences.

“I was working on my presentation at the library. Lost track of time,” he explains as though the other guy has displayed any interest in his circumstances.

Jefferson hums. “What’s your angle?”

“I’m sure you can wait until tomorrow to tear it apart.”

“Believe it or not my life doesn’t revolve around you, Hamilton,” Jefferson says with that bored, stretchy tone.

“Could have fooled me.”

“It’s not my fault you keep saying stupid shit in class.”

The prospect of launching himself out of the car and doing a barrel roll is starting to seem more appealing by the minute. Bickering with Jefferson outside the classroom setting is all frustration and no fun. Only performative academic debate gets him worked up in that satisfying, electrified way that makes Alexander’s own nerve ends stand up in attention. Well, that and fucking. But Alex is decidedly not thinking about that right now. Not even as his eyes drift to Jefferson’s hands, one gripping the top of the steering wheel nonchalantly and the other resting on the stick shift. For some reason Alex is reminded of the last time Lafayette gave him a ride to their place with Hercules. He had been sitting on the backseat, watching  Lafayette’s hand as it landed on Herc’s knee or thigh in stoplights  as if that was its natural resting place, its home harbor.

Jefferson’s hands never find their way to Alexander with careless ease like that. In public there’s an unstated line drawn between them that might as well be vast as an ocean and in private his hands work with relentless purpose, moving and molding Alex until he twists and bends exactly how Jefferson wants him to - but Alexander is still not thinking about that, not now when Jefferson is refusing to even properly return his animosity as if it’s too damn much to ask.

Just as it occurs to Alex he hasn’t at any point told Jefferson where he lives (they do the fucking at Jefferson’s place and occasionally in motel rooms since Jefferson won’t risk running into Alexander’s roommates), they pull up to a motel. _This fucking guy._

He turns to stare at Jefferson accusingly. “Did you seriously just pick me up from the side of the road like a sex worker?”

Jefferson finally turns to look at Alexander and raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a taxi service,” he deadpans.

Alex feels his cheeks heat up. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

Jefferson reaches to flip a switch and the doors unlock with a soft click. “Off you go, then.”

“You’re such an asshole. Like, I always foolishly think I know the extent of your assholery but then you find new ways of one-upping yourself,” Alex sputters.

Jefferson twists his torso to face Alexander and the parking lot lights illuminate the edges of his tall silhouette. His elbow is propped onto the back of his seat while the other hand still rests on the steering wheel. “Wouldn’t have picked you up had I known I’d have to listen to a tantrum. That one’s on me though, should have known better,” he says, looking as unimpressed as ever.

As Alexander’s eyes drift to Jefferson’s hands again his brain decides to take that moment to provide him with an image of Jefferson bending him over the car seat, or maybe the hood even, in a parking lot or an empty alley somewhere, as if he would really agree to fucking Alexander out in the open with another living soul within a hundred mile radius.

There’s a shiver, at the base of his spine. Goddamn it.

There is no way of suggesting a car fuck now that they’re parked at a motel without sounding ridiculous and petulant but if he plays his cards right it could be a viable long-term goal. As of now, Alex silently jerks the door open and starts towards the motel entrance. Jefferson shuts the engine and follows, smugness radiating from his very being. _Asshole._

It’s not too seedy, maybe a two-and-a-half star motel with a cozy, rustic kind of a look. Alexander wanders around the reception aimlessly while Jefferson goes up to the counter to pay. He doesn’t feel bad; it’s not like he’s the one insisting they do this like they both have wives and 2,5 kids waiting at home.

The room is only a short corridor and a flight of stairs away and Alex purposefully walks a few steps ahead and slightly sways his hips as he walks – Jefferson plays the part of the ice queen better than none other but even he can’t hide his appreciation for Hamilton’s ass. Jefferson shakes his head slightly as he pulls out the keycard and, with a single swift motion, pulls the door open with one hand and shoves Alex inside from the back of his neck with the other.

Alex stumbles in and just as he regains his balance the door clicks shut and his body is pressed against the wall. Jefferson has him pinned down easily with just one arm across the back of his shoulders.

“You really do offer your ass for the drop of a hat, Hamilton,” he says and there’s a hand slipping under Alexander’s hoodie and Jefferson’s fingertips are dragging up his side lightly. He tries not to shiver too much this early on. “Even for the sluttiest bottom boy I’ve come across thus far it never ceases to amaze me how little buttering up you take.”

In all fairness Jefferson has a point in the sense that it hadn’t taken much ‘seduction’ to get Alexander to show up on Jefferson’s doorstep one night and to keep him coming back for more ever since. Unless one counts a sloppy handjob in the bathroom of some frat house during a party as seduction. Still, the condescension and the slutshame-y sentiment rub Alexander the wrong way so he turns his head to the side (he can somewhat make out the double bed further in the room but Jefferson is still obscured from his view) and pipes up: “Oh get off your high horse, you’re the one who drove us here in the-“

“How about we save the talking for tomorrow when you’re trying not to limb too visibly in front of the whole class, hmm?” Jefferson interjects and kicks Alexander’s legs further apart. Alexander scoffs but keeps his complaints to himself. He gets awarded with Jefferson reaching around him to open the button and zipper of his jeans.

Jefferson always takes the time to feel Alexander up as if he’s checking the goods before making a purchase and Alexander wants to hate it, he really does, but despite of the impatience growing within he can also feel his lower belly tighten up in expectation as Jefferson’s long fingers knead his ass, still over his boxer briefs. He tries to recall whether he’s wearing a respectable pair or not but loses his train of thought as Jefferson’s attentions move to the front. God, he’s rapidly growing hard already after barely being touched. Alexander’s palms are both lying flat against the wall and he curls and uncurls his fingers restlessly.

Jefferson’s hand doesn’t linger too long where Hamilton really wants it, as per usual. It moves upwards, feeling up the indent of his hip bone, the slight curve of his waist. He drums at Hamilton’s ribs with the tips of his fingers, observes how he tenses up with the nearly ticklish sensation.

The inspection seems to be a pass since the weight pinning Alex to a wall is removed abruptly. He spins around and tries clash their mouths together but all Jefferson needs to do is tilt his head back to stop him from reaching.

“Now now, let’s not get greedy,” he says and smirks down at Alexander, a hand coming to grip his ponytail to stop him from getting up to his tip toes. Jefferson keeps the hold as he walks Hamilton to the bed, tugs downwards until he kneels on the floor and plops himself down onto the edge of the bed.

Alex leans back on his shins and watches as Jefferson unzips his jeans and pulls out his half-hard dick, stroking it slowly, looking down at Alexander. Alex tries to hold the eye contact but is promptly distracted by Jefferson’s length. It’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t seen before but damn, the size of it makes his mouth water. He wants to touch himself but knows that doing that without permission will just delay the eventual gratification.

Jefferson smiles as though he sees exactly what Alex is thinking. He probably does, Alex isn’t exactly subtle in these matters. “What do you want to do, Hamilton?”

Alex rolls his eyes and grits out: “I want to suck you cock.”

“Were you raised in a barn?”

“Please.”

Jefferson smiles. “Good boy. Go on, then.”

Alex shuffles forward into the space between Jefferson’s knees, wraps a hand around the base of his dick and takes the rest of the length into his mouth. Jefferson leans back on one hand and sighs contentedly as Alex does his thing. His other hand finds purchase at the base of Alexander’s ponytail.

Alex revels at the weight of Jefferson’s prick on his tongue, the salty taste of it. He pulls back and flicks his tongue over the slit at the tip and sinks all the way down until his lips hit his fingers at the base. He is rewarded with a quiet hiss. From then on he starts to build a slow and steady rhythm of bobbing his head and teasing the sensitive flesh of the tip, moving his hand to match his mouth. With Jefferson it’s really not about suction or deepthroating (while it doesn’t hurt), as much as it’s about consistency and timing, stimulating the right places at the right times and keeping at it even as your jaw starts to ache. Alex has the stamina and the stubbornness to match; he would think he was practically made for sucking Jefferson’s dick if the thought wasn’t so pathetic.

Eventually the hand on Alexander’s ponytail tightens and Jefferson’s hips jerk forward. Alex manages to smirk even with his lips stretched around his cock and looks innocently up at Jefferson’s face through his eyelashes. Jefferson’s brows furrow and he pulls Alex off his cock with a moist pop. “Something funny?” he asks.

Alex smirks again and licks at his lips, the taste of precum salty on his lips. “Nuthin’.”

“Strip and get on the bed.”

He practically rips off his hoodie, jeans, shoes and (thankfully not his ugliest) boxer briefs and lays his back against the pillows. Jefferson, who has also been ridded of his clothes, wordlessly taps his side. Alex bites back the disappointment of not getting to look at the disgustingly perfect body in front of him and turns around. There’s some rustling and soon Jefferson spreads his legs and pushes a lubed up digit in.

“You know,” Alex says and tries to control his breathing, “I get having condoms on you at all times but it’s pretty ridiculous you’d take lube with you to a late night grocery run.”

A palm connects with his ass cheek and Alexander yelps more out of surprise than pain. “It was in my car. Less talking,” Jefferson says.

“Oh.” The reminder of his earlier fantasy combined with Jefferson’s now two fingers prying him open with an agonizingly relaxed pace cause him to ball the freshly washed motel sheets tightly into his fists. Jefferson slaps his ass again and squeezes the sensitive flesh under his palm. “Wish I had something to tie you up with,” he mutters.

Alex rocks back against the touch as much as Jefferson’s hold allows and pants helplessly into the sheets as the fingers inside him curl and hit that sweet spot that Jefferson always digs out of him with arrogant ease. He slaps him again, to the same spot but it feels more like an afterthought. It’s almost offensive.

Alex peers at Jefferson over his shoulder. “Was that a spank or a gentle breeze blowing across a hayfield, I couldn’t quite tell?” he taunts.

Jefferson sighs and reaches down to pick up his boxers from the floor. “Open up, Hamilton.”

He does and his mouth promptly gets stuffed with the piece of cloth. “Next time I’ll wear a belt and we’ll do something about your attitude,” Jefferson drawls. Alex feels his lower belly tighten. Jefferson goes back to fingering his ass and this time his palm comes down hard. Alex jerks and quivers under the mixture of stinging pain and pleasure and the overwhelming feeling of being the sole focus of Jefferson’s attention.

Seven blows later (Alex counts them automatically) Jefferson pulls his fingers out and Alex spreads his legs further expectantly. Jefferson rubs his cock against his entrance but doesn’t push it in yet. He runs a finger down Alexander’s back, following the line of his spine. Alex lets out a whimper.

“Ask nicely,” he demands with a hoarse voice that tells Alex this won’t be one of those times when foreplay takes the better part of the night. He can’t exactly speak with a mouthful of cotton but Jefferson seems satisfied with the muffled needy noise that he makes. He plants his hands firmly on Alexander’s hips and yanks him to the position he wants, and then he’s pushing in with short, merciless thrusts.

Alex buries his face into the mattress and groans. When all is said and done the guy does know how to use what he’s got. And he’s got _a lot_ , the size of Jefferson fills Alex up in a borderline painful way that makes him shudder from head to toe. Once he’s fully seated in Jefferson stills, only rocking his hips slightly, admiring the view no doubt. He’s as quiet as ever but even his breathing has gotten considerably heavier. Alexander’s shoulders shake with a mixture of impatience and want but he lets Jefferson take his time, if not only to show that he still has the willpower to do so.

Jefferson lets out a breathy laugh. “Look at you, all well-behaved.” His fingertips dig harder into Hamilton’s hips. He hopes there will be bruises. “Should do this on Washington’s desk right before class, maybe we’d be all saved from your tirades for a while.”

Alex wants to retort but then Jefferson starts to move and he just groans into the now completely soaked bundle of fabric in his mouth instead. Jefferson pulls nearly fully out and slams back in, again and again. The room is filled with the creaking of the cheap bedframe, the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin and Alexander’s broken, muffled moans. He won’t last much longer, not now that he’s gotten it into his head that Jefferson’s grip on his hips feels possessive, his thrusts resentful and harsh. In that moment of weakness all he wants is to be engulfed in the flames of Jefferson’s hatred, or passion, whatever works; to be burned out until there’s nothing left of him but this scorching heat in the pit of his stomach. The tip of his dick rubs against the cover of the bed, already staining it no doubt.

Jefferson reaches to wrap a hand around it and Alex makes an embarrassingly shrill sound. His hips shake and his hands claw at the sheets.

“You’re not thinking about coming, are you?” Jefferson says hoarsely and squeezes at the base. Alex tugs the boxers out of his mouth and licks at his lips.

“Please, please let me,” he babbles and cries out when Jefferson’s cock rubs against his prostate perfectly in time with the hand on his dick. “I, I ca-, I can’t.” That’s as coherent as he can get in his state.

Jefferson groans, low and throaty. “Fine then. But I’m gonna keep stroking you until I come as well, and you’re gonna behave and hold your position like a good fucktoy until I’m done. Understood?”

Alex nods frantically.

It takes two competent, firm strokes to tip Alex over the edge. He moans and grinds against Jefferson’s palm with shaking hips as he spills his load over the sheets. His mind is deafeningly lound and completely blank at the same time and his entire world is solely focused on the pleasure pulsing from his groin. Jefferson keeps up a steady rhythm of thrusting into Alex but his hand strokes his cock slower, like he’s savoring the feeling of wringing every last drop out of him.

And that’s what Jefferson is doing, Alex thinks helplessly. He’s squeezing him dry and tossing him aside like a dirty towel, and he doesn’t want it to end, not even as the pleasure starts to border on painful as Jefferson refuses to let him come down from his orgasm and keeps stroking the now oversensitive flesh between his legs. Alexander’s moans start to turn into broken sobs as he calls up all of his willpower to not move away, to push away the hand that’s overstimulating him with merciless precision. Sweat is pooling between his shoulder blades and sticking stray strands of hair to his forehead and his face is a mess of drool, and tears and snot. There are at least some advantages to being fucked from behind like this.

“Damn Hamilton,” Jefferson hisses, keeping them on last name basis even with his cock buried deep inside Alexander’s ass. Alex lets out another high-pitched whine and Jefferson pulls out, tugs off the condom and comes all over his back with a satisfied groan.

Alexander collapses as soon and Jefferson releases his dick from his hold, quivering. He feels like a crumbled up pastry but manages to roll onto his back. Maybe Jefferson is some kind of a succubus, that would explain how he always gets up immediately afterwards with newfound energy, leaving Hamilton laying there empty and hollowed out, feeling like using their safe word (gentrification) well after the fact. He does so now as well and Alexander’s eyes follow him as he gathers up his clothes and pulls them on, humming some nondescript tune. His breathing is slightly heavier than usual and some curls are sticking to his sweaty forehead, one might think he’d had to jog to catch for a bus or something. Alexander idly wipes at the tear stains on his cheeks and tries to even out his breathing by counting. Four seconds in, four seconds hold, four seconds out. Repeat.

Once Jefferson’s dressed he digs into his pocket and tosses a pile of crumbles up bills Alexander’s way. That gets him to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Wha-“

“For a taxi,” Jefferson says. His voice is back to its stretchy, bored default. “I’m not spending any more time around you now that I’ve come.”

Alex just stares, at a loss for words for once.

“C’ya in class.” Jefferson turns and waves a lazy hand over his shoulder and then he’s gone.

Alex plops back down onto the bed and stares mutely at the ceiling.

There’s a faint sound of an engine being started off in the distance and soon even that’s gone. He rolls onto his side, wraps his arms around his shivering frame and slowly curls up into a ball. Four in, four hold, four out. Repeat.

**~**

_This time around Alex knew to step over the legs of the floor-guy, but as he was doing that his wrist was caught suddenly. He looked down and was met with a drunk and somewhat mischievous gaze._

_“What is it, then?” the guy on the floor asked._

_“Huh?” was all the Alexander managed, now that he was getting a good look at the guy’s full lips, fluffy afro and mostly unbuttoned dress shirt._ Oh no he’s hot.

_“The opposite of love?” he said, and there was that lopsided grin again. Was this flirting or was this just one of those bullshit conversations you ended up having with strangers while drunk?_

_“It’s indifference,” Alex replied after a pause. He pulled his hand out of the other man’s grasp and followed John to the living room. He thought he could feel a gaze following him but didn’t turn to look._

**Author's Note:**

> Choosing between past and present tense and sticking to it is the bane of my existence so here we have both. I thrive on chaos.


End file.
